


Wandering Home

by theramblinrose



Category: The Walking Dead (TV)
Genre: Caryl, F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-12-30
Updated: 2021-01-31
Packaged: 2021-03-11 03:20:56
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 13,525
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28418268
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/theramblinrose/pseuds/theramblinrose
Summary: Caryl, ZA.  Somewhat AU.  He just kept going because there was, really, nothing else to do.  (Somewhere around seasons 4 and 5)
Relationships: Daryl Dixon/Carol Peletier
Comments: 3
Kudos: 35





	1. Chapter 1

AN: This may be a two-shot if there is enough interest in the little bit that I would add to it. I wrote it in response to at Tumblr prompt/request. Some of the requests that I get are beautiful, really, and could be stories of epic length (if my rambling self were to write them). This is one of those. I guess, then, you could also think of this (and the follow-up chapter, if there’s interest in it) as a complete short story, but also something of a sampler for a possible longer story that I may do in the future.

This is not exactly canon, so please don’t expect it to be.

I own nothing from the Walking Dead.

I do hope that you enjoy! Let me know what you think! 

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Sullen. Quiet. Withdrawn. Grumpy.

Daryl had heard every possible explanation of himself tossed at him by others. It seemed like he was better at pissing everyone off when he kept his mouth shut than he was when he opened his mouth and said some of the things he was thinking. 

He was tired of saying what he was thinking, though. It didn’t change a damn thing and it made his stomach hurt to give too much voice to everything that boiled within him.

Mostly, he was hurt, and he was angry, and he felt his losses acutely.

They had all lost. 

Rick never missed an opportunity to remind Daryl that they had all lost. Any time that he got any reaction from Daryl that he didn’t like—or got no reaction at all—he reminded Daryl that they had all lost. Rick, himself, had lost his wife, after all—his somewhat estranged wife by the time of her death—and his daughter, which may have been the biological child of the best friend that he also lost; when he killed him, of course.

Daryl was sympathetic to others’ losses. It wasn’t that he was somehow heartless and didn’t give a shit about human suffering—he was surrounded by human suffering.

It was Rick’s losses, in particular, that pissed Daryl off because, with every step of their long-ass journey to hell in a handbasket, Daryl was becoming more and more convinced that it was, in fact, Rick that had cost him almost everything he’d lost.

Maybe he was twisting things, but Daryl could see how Rick had cost him his brother—twice. And if that loss wasn’t enough, Rick had then cost him the love of his life.

And every time he lost, Rick arranged it, it seemed, so that he never got the chance to say goodbye.

Merle was left handcuffed to a roof. When he returned to Daryl’s life, he left quietly again to fill Rick’s orders to deliver Michonne to the hands of the Governor—a task Rick wanted done but didn’t have the balls to do himself. When Daryl saw Merle again, he was gone. He was nothing more than one of the flesh-eating creatures that terrorized them constantly.

Daryl might not have gotten through losing Merle a second time if it hadn’t been for Carol. 

If he was being honest, it was Carol that had kept him going from the beginning—at least from the first shy kiss that she’d offered him on the road, after the farm. He’d already loved her, but he hadn’t realized that’s what it was. She’d helped him figure out what it was and what he’d been feeling. She’d allowed him to feel, and she’d accepted him as what he was, just as he was. She’d been his first love in every imaginable way, and she’d made him sure that, somehow, they’d survive this whole world—they’d beat it—just to be together.

And then Rick had taken her on a run and he’d left her there, making the decision, himself, to banish her from the group entirely. 

Daryl had never gotten to say goodbye. He’d never gotten to say a million things that he meant to say. She was just gone.

For his actions, Daryl had broken Rick’s nose. Rick had argued that he hadn’t known about their relationship, which was true, but Daryl thought it didn’t matter. Rick didn’t have the right to do what he’d done, and that was the simple truth of it—and he was angry, and hurt, and scared of losing her forever.

Daryl had intended to go after her, determined to leave the entire damn group if that was what Rick wanted to keep his bullshit banishment in place, but the prison had fallen under attack at almost the very moment that he’d learned of what Rick had done. In the scramble to escape Daryl had lost precious time just the same as they’d lost people. They’d all been separated. He had no way of knowing where, exactly, Rick had left Carol.

When he’d joined the group later—found them on accident—they’d all found themselves in a pretty bad situation. They were captives of a group that, promising them sanctuary, had intended to kill and eat them. When they managed to escape, Daryl had chosen to stay with the group simply because he felt like there was nothing else to do. There was nowhere else for him to go. There was nobody left in the world that he loved, and he’d never done well with going it entirely alone.

There was nothing else, really, for Daryl at that point. Nothing mattered. He was simply surviving. He might as well do that with others—at least until he was ready to go off on his own.

He understood, honestly, the words of a friend he’d lost in the past—a friend that Rick had left behind. She’d offered him her words when he’d asked her about whether or not she still wanted to end her life, as she once had, or if she was ready to keep living. She’d told him that she didn’t know if she wanted to live or if it was simply something she was doing out of habit. He’d considered the answer bullshit at the time. Now, though, he wished he could tell her that he understood.

The whole damn thing was really just a habit.

Mile after mile. Day after day. It was just a habit to keep moving forward, especially when you felt like you no longer had anything to live for and everything that you ever wanted was in the past and lost to you forever.

The moving forward, really, was nothing more than a force of habit—some deeply imbedded human instinct to keep you from standing still and dying. 

And Daryl reminded Rick, every time that the man said something about his attitude and told him that everyone had suffered losses that, in many ways, Rick had been the author of his own destiny. He’d created the perfect storm in which all his losses had occurred—and he’d done the same for Daryl.

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The billboards along the highway advertised a housing community that was newly built with houses starting at prices that Daryl would have never been able to afford in his life before the whole of civilization crumbled. 

Of course, they weren’t looking to buy anything and the decayed state of the billboards made it clear that they were simply symbols of a bygone era. Nothing like social class and money mattered anymore. None of the things around which they’d once built their lives and society mattered at all.

The houses would offer protection from the elements, and the promise of a gated community meant there was a good chance for some protection from the Walkers that roamed around. There was a chance they could stay there long-term or, at the very least, that they could rest and get their strength up to figure out where they were going next.

Rick talked about that a lot—where they were going next. The damnedest thing about it was that Daryl didn’t know where they were now, and neither did Rick. They had no purpose, and that extended beyond Daryl’s own feelings of simply existing in the world. They were wandering, and they had been wandering since the beginning. Their drifting aimlessly, though, had gotten worse since the prison had been destroyed and they’d been thrown out, separately, to straggle back together again. 

It didn’t matter where they went, really, and these houses were as good as any. What they needed now was to stop wandering and to rest—to gather up some strength.

They’d wandered far enough north, too, that winter would be coming soon and it would hit them harder than it ever had in Georgia. They’d do good to find some place they could hole up until the winter had passed. They would need to find something, though, and they’d need to find it soon to start stocking it with enough food to get them through until spring.

The only problem with something as wonderful as a gated community, however, was that there was a good chance that their group wasn’t the first to find it. Even though they had encountered good people and bad people, and even though they might be a bit wary of interacting with others, they really had very little choice except to proceed with caution. No matter what, they had to proceed. They needed shelter, and they needed it soon.

It didn’t take long to realize that they weren’t the first people to decide that a gated community of luxury homes might make a nice place to settle down. The fences around the community had been reinforced several times, and the gate that waited at the main entrance to the community was not the original gate—it was far stronger and more reliable as a means of keeping people out.

“These people are pretty serious about protection,” Tyreese offered as soon as they approached.

“If we’d have been a little more serious about it, maybe we wouldn’t have ended up quite the way we are,” Michonne responded.

Tempers were short. Everyone was worn down. They were exhausted. Nobody had a calendar or the time or energy to keep track of the days, but it had been at least six months since they’d left the prison—what was left of it—in an attempt to survive. It may have been more. There were days, after all, when it seemed like an eternity. It seemed like they hadn’t stopped travelling—and they hadn’t stopped fighting—since then.

They didn’t have a lot of fight left in them if they didn’t rest soon.

“Just keep your eyes open and your hands ready,” Daryl said. 

“I’ll do the talking,” Rick offered.

“You always do,” Daryl muttered, pretty sure that Rick hadn’t heard him but, honestly, not concerned if he had.

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Their initial welcome to the community was a strange one. They were greeted by “guards” at the gate and practically whisked away to meet with the “mayor” of the community. Daryl saw very little of the place as they went, but he saw enough to note that it was clean and organized. Everyone appeared to be well-fed and, overall, doing well. It also must have offered most everything that everyone needed, because the few people he saw coming out on porches to see the newcomers didn’t look like they were suffering too much.

It was a sharp contrast to the last place where they’d been around people—especially since they were taken to a nice home, offered drinks and snacks, and were not locked into train cars to wait until they became the main course at a community meal.

They were interviewed individually. Daryl could understand the precaution, especially after the nutcases they’d met along the way, and he didn’t really give a shit about answering their questions. He was keeping his eyes open, too, and he assumed that, if they were really decent people, they knew and accepted that.

He answered their questions. They were simple enough. His “history” was short and he told them just enough of his background to make it clear that, while his life before all of this was nothing that he wanted to wax poetic about, he hadn’t been a serial killer. He listed his skills without need to be modest. He was a good hunter and, honestly, he was at least halfway fucking decent at most any mechanical or skill-based job they could think of. He was also pretty good at learning new skills when the motivation was good enough and, if this place was all the hell they promised it was, he might find a great deal of motivation to learn whatever the hell he needed to learn to keep it in good working order.

When they asked him about his life now, there was nothing much to say.

He had nothing left. He’d lost everything. Rick had made sure of that—even if he hadn’t directly meant to do it.

When he’d finished his little interview, Daryl had the opportunity to ask a few questions of his own, though he’d felt rushed because everyone was aware that the “mayor” of the community still had a good number of people to talk with before they could all get settled. Daryl’s curiosity had been basic and his questions were quickly answered.

The “mayor’s” role was given to her, and she remained in the position because that’s what the people wanted. There was no benefit to the position, really, since all major decisions were made by a council. Her opinion may hold a bit more weight, but it was only out of their respect for her that they even gave her opinion any weight at all. The majority of the community was run on solar energy. They had gardens and a small orchard for growing food and were always welcoming ideas for growing more. They also had an area designated to livestock, and they intended to move the fences in the spring to allow for more space and expansion where necessary. People were allowed to choose housing for themselves and were encouraged to grow families, but there were many people, and even families, who shared homes simply because they preferred not to be alone after everything they’d seen and experienced.

Everyone worked. Everyone contributed. Everyone partook.

That suited Daryl just fine. 

And if he found out later that it didn’t, it didn’t really matter anyway. He could stay or he could go—there was nothing holding him anywhere. 

When he left the house, he left with instructions from the “mayor” – Celeste – that he was to go to the storage area of the community and get a “welcome” package of the basics. Then, from there, he could expect someone working in that area to show him around so that he could make choices about where he wanted to live.

He didn’t care where the hell he lived, really, but he told her he’d accept her welcome package and her guide, just as long as she didn’t expect him to live with Rick.

It was time, he figured, for a little distance.

As Daryl dismounted the steps of the house where he’d been taken for the interview, he pulled a cigarette from the half-crushed pack in his pocket and lit it. He looked around, taking in his surroundings, sincerely, for the first time. He’d been given rough directions for how to arrive at storage, and he let his feet start in that direction.

He was aware that people—some working and some doing other things—were watching him, though most had the common decency not to completely stop to gawk and stare.

Daryl made very little eye contact with any of them. 

As he neared the place they called “storage,” he let his ears tune in more and more to the chatter around him. He heard people talking—chattering—and he caught scattered pieces of their conversation. There was a new group. New arrivals. There was a great deal to talk about, and a great deal of speculation, surrounding new people. Daryl assumed that it must be something exciting for these people to have new blood around.

When he looked up, mostly to keep from running into anyone as it seemed like the foot traffic on the street of the little community picked up in that area, his eyes glided quickly and easily over faces that didn’t matter and which meant nothing to him.

They only stopped, for a moment, when he saw a ghost from his past—a vision caught like something out of his periphery.

Daryl stopped short. He nearly fell over his own feet at the abrupt stop. 

Immediately, his pulse increased. His breathing picked up. His chest felt heavy. His stomach ached and he didn’t dare to glance back over where his eyes had only stopped for a half a second. 

He didn’t want to look back and see that they’d fooled him. He didn’t want to look back and see that they’d only imagined what they wanted to see.

He didn’t want to look back and, once more, suffer the loss of her as he had, nearly every morning since Rick had taken her away from him, when he woke and realized that all his beautiful memories of her were just memories and all his dreams were nothing more than hopeful recreations of his vivid imagination.

But he did look, because it was better to go ahead and break his heart again so that he could go on—he could move forward. That’s what he did, after all. He just kept going because there was, really, nothing else to do.

Daryl let his eyes drift back in the direction where they’d caught a spectral glance of her. His heart practically stopped in his chest. His knees nearly buckled.

The ghost wasn’t gone. In fact, she’d moved a few steps closer to him. Her brow was furrowed with concern or confusion—or maybe even doubt. She held his eyes for what seemed like an eternity before they both accepted that neither was imagining the other. 

She smiled at him and he knew she was real. She opened her arms to him and he practically ran for her, slowing his steps only enough to keep from toppling her to the ground. Even in his arms, he doubted that she was real—that this was possible.

He buried his face in her neck and inhaled her scent. It was the same. It hadn’t changed. She hadn’t changed—not enough that it mattered.

And, suddenly, it didn’t matter where the hell they were at all, because Daryl was finally home.


	2. Chapter 2

AN: Here’s another little piece to this one. I think there may be at least one more piece to this one if you want it. 

I may, eventually, expand this one.

I do hope you enjoy! Let me know what you think! 

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“Is it really you? How’d you get here?” Daryl said, the words spilling out of him somewhat frantically as they tried to keep up with the feelings that were threatening to overwhelm him.

“Is it really you? How did you get here?” Carol echoed.

Daryl pulled away from her enough to look at her. He held her face with his hands. He felt her soft skin underneath his fingertips. He was overwhelmed with the simple presence of her. He ducked his head again and, this time, he kissed the soft skin of the crook of her neck when he inhaled her scent.

“Say somethin’ different so I know it’s you and not some shit I’m just makin’ up,” he muttered, realizing how ridiculous the request must sound.

Carol’s fingers found his face and lifted it to look at him. There were tears clearly brimming in her eyes, but she smiled at him. And then, instead of saying something to make it clear that she was real, she kissed him. 

Daryl had enjoyed and cherished every kiss she’d ever given him, but none had tasted as wonderful as that one.

“I missed you,” she breathed out when the kiss broke and she leaned her forehead against his.

“I love you,” he said, finally saying the words that, although he had said them before, he’d realized that he’d never said enough before Rick ripped her away and he thought she was lost forever.

“I love you, too,” Carol said. She laughed quietly through the tears she was swallowing back. “Or—am I allowed to say that since you already said it?”

“Stop,” Daryl said, laughing to himself. It was a strange sensation—the feeling of laughter. He hadn’t felt it since the day that Rick had told him that she was gone, and that she was never coming back because he’d told her that he wouldn’t allow her in the prison and that nobody would want her there—that she would be fine on her own.

He’d been right about only one thing. She’d been fine on her own. She looked good. There was color in her cheeks and, if Daryl wasn’t mistaken at first glance, she’d filled out a little since he’d last seen her. They were feeding her better here than she’d been eating with the group. Of course, the group had always had some unspoken but widely understood expectation that Carol would give of herself, in every way possible, for the benefit of others. It seemed as though, here, she was being repaid for what she gave—just as Celeste had said that everyone would be.

“Excuse me, I’m sorry to interrupt, but…”

Their attention was drawn by the words uttered in an almost tinkling voice. Before Daryl looked at the speaker, he knew it would be a young girl. She was probably not even through puberty. She looked apologetic, but held up a bag which, Daryl assumed, contained the welcoming items to which he was entitled.

“It’s OK,” Carol said reassuringly. “Thank you, Katie.” Carol reached for the bag, but Daryl intercepted and took it himself.

“Thanks,” he muttered. He didn’t much want to speak to the girl, mostly because he already missed the time that she was taking away from what he could be spending with Carol, but he accepted that she was young, doing her job, and likely feeling overwhelmed at the thought of taking care of all the newcomers that would be expecting welcome packages.

“You want me to show you around, or…?” Katie asked. She was still wearing a terribly apologetic expression.

“I’ll show him around,” Carol assured her. “Tell Olivia that I probably won’t be back until tomorrow?” 

Katie smiled. It was a sincere smile, and Daryl assumed it was an expression of relief to have one less person to look after. She nodded her agreement to do what Carol had asked, and she left them almost immediately by turning on her heel and jogging back toward the house that they’d deemed their “storage” with her ponytail swinging behind her.

Carol watched her go, smiling.

“Even the kids work here?” 

“Just small jobs,” Carol said. “When they’re getting older. It gets them used to working. Katie’s such a sweetheart.” 

“You’ve been here a long time?” Daryl asked.

Carol looked at him. She held the look for a long moment, a half-smile on her face, and then she spoke. 

“About—a month,” Carol said. 

“You made good time,” Daryl said with a laugh.

“I guess I did,” Carol agreed. “Come on. I’ll show you the houses.” 

Carol gestured for him to follow her in an almost playful manner. Daryl slung the bag over his shoulder with his bag and crossbow—the few items that he owned in the world—and followed her. He was only just beginning to become aware of the people and the space around him. Suddenly everything seemed alive. The sunlight seemed brighter than it had been. People looked more cheerful. Sounds were bolder than they’d been before.

Carol always had a way of making Daryl feel more alive and more a part of the world. 

“You wanna show me where you live?” Daryl asked.

She smiled at him over her shoulder and slowed her steps so that he could catch up with her. 

“I can,” she said. “But I have to make a quick stop first.”

“Whatever you gotta do,” Daryl said.

As they walked, he paid very little sincere attention to the people around them. He let his eyes skim over them and, every now and again, he nodded at someone when they accidentally made eye contact. Somewhere, everyone else he’d travelled with this far was getting supplies and being shown to the places they would call home—at least until they decided to move on or Rick gave the order that, because he was no longer happy to be settled there, it was time for everyone to pack up and move forward.

Daryl glanced back at Carol. He reached his hand out and caught hers. He toyed with her fingers and she allowed him, smiling to herself at the simplest of affections.

He was never letting her out of his sight again. He wasn’t letting anyone tell him where the hell he had to go or what he had to do. He wished all the rest of them good luck, good health, and every damn thing else they needed and deserved, but he wasn’t going anywhere—not without Carol.

Carol stopped in front of a house, and Daryl followed her as she mounted the porch steps. She opened the door, stuck her head in, and then slowly ventured inside. Daryl followed her.

They were barely in the door before they were greeted by another woman who was all smiles. 

Immediately, Daryl knew they were in some kind of nursery or kid-friendly environment because there were toys of all kinds scattered everywhere. The woman put a finger to her lips to indicate that they should be quiet, and Daryl assumed they may have very well come at something like a nap time. 

Carol loved children. 

Daryl feared that she’d never really had the time or opportunity to mourn Sophia, but he’d hoped that she could do so when they really got settled at the prison. He hoped that, as her confidence and comfort grew, she would start to talk about the girl more and face everything she must be feeling. He didn’t push her too hard, though. He knew that everyone had to process their feelings in their own way and in their own time.

She’d enjoyed working with the children at the prison, and that was one of her favorite jobs that she’d assigned herself. She taught the children how to defend themselves. She’d also inherited, thanks to the loss of one of their people, two little girls, but the little girls had been lost when the prison fell.

Daryl assumed that she must know that, by now, simply from deduction—they weren’t with the group. She hadn’t been dreadfully close to them, though, and he assumed that it was something she’d rather address in private. They had time for that, too. 

Daryl imagined that her visit to the nursery must have something to do with wrapping up her work for the day.

“I know I’m early,” Carol said, “but…can I take her now?” 

“Of course,” the woman said. “I was coming to get you soon anyway. She’s sleeping, but she’s been making some of those little—snorting sounds.” 

Carol laughed, and Daryl assumed that this was something they both simply knew about. It was something he wasn’t a part of, and he suddenly felt a little out of place. He eased backward out of the space and out of the door of the house to leave Carol to her work. On the porch, he lit another cigarette from his pack and looked around the little community. 

It was a nice community. It was nicer than anywhere that he’d lived even before all of this, and it seemed like everyone got along rather well. Carol seemed comfortable here, and Rick wasn’t in charge to make decisions like which people in Daryl’s life he needed to get rid of next.

Daryl figured it would suit him just fine, as long as it suited Carol.

When Carol came out, Daryl noticed she was wearing a sling across her body. The obvious weight of it told him that it wasn’t empty, though the occupant of the sling was well-bundled and mostly hidden from view, but it clearly didn’t hold a child of any great age. The baby bundled there, if Daryl was guessing by just eye-balling things, was what Merle would have called “barely bigger than a minute.” 

Carol stared at him a moment, the same half-smile that she’d worn before on her lips, and Daryl assumed that she was likely feeling the same way that he was feeling. The whole thing seemed surreal. It seemed impossible to imagine that, after all this time, they could possibly be back in the same place. Daryl didn’t know where they were, exactly, but he knew that he and the rest of the group had travelled long distances in vehicles and, when necessary, on foot. If eh remembered correctly, the last sign they’d seen had welcomed them to Virginia.

Virginia is for lovers.

The idea popped into Daryl’s mind and he couldn’t help but smile at the thought. He didn’t communicate the thought to Carol in any way, but her cheeks ran red and her smile grew in response to his own expression.

“Are you—ready to go?” Carol asked.

Daryl nodded. To show he was ready to go, he dismounted the porch steps in front of Carol. She followed after him and, on the street, gestured in the direction in which she wished for them to head. On the way, she waved at a couple of people, and she smiled at a few more. 

She seemed appreciated here. Welcome. These didn’t seem like the kind of people who would banish her and leave her to try to survive alone. They seemed like the kind of people who would have at least tried to understand why she did what she did.

Daryl hadn’t heard it from her own mouth why she did what she did—he assumed there was time for all things—but he’d had plenty of time to think about it. Knowing Carol, and knowing the reality of the world around them, it wasn’t impossible to imagine a few possible reasons for her actions—reasons that Rick hadn’t even considered before he’d driven her somewhere and left her for dead with the promise—the very, very wrong promise—that nobody would ever want her to return to the prison.

“Daryl?” 

Daryl jumped and stopped when he heard his name. He turned to find Carol with her brow furrowed. She was waiting a few steps away from him.

“Are you OK?” She asked. 

Daryl realized he’d gotten a little too wrapped up in his own thoughts. He’d lost his touch with reality for at least a moment.

“Hmmm?” He hummed. It was all he could manage to get out at that precise moment.

“Where are you going?” Carol asked. “Come on—I live here. Let me show you the house.” 

Daryl nodded at her and didn’t bother to apologize for losing himself in thought. He mounted the porch steps and followed her into the house. It was nice. Clean. It was the kind of place that Daryl had only seen in magazines.

Carol smiled at him.

“Home sweet home,” she said. “Nobody else lives here, but if you wanted to look at something else…”

“No,” Daryl said quickly. “Not if you—unless you…I mean…unless you want me to. I’d rather just stay with you.” 

Carol smiled to herself.

“I’d like that,” she said. “I can show you the house. Let you start settling in. You can take a shower and I can…make something to eat? Are you hungry?” 

Daryl nodded. 

He hadn’t been too worried about food for a while, to be honest, but suddenly he was damn near starving to death at the thought of eating something that Carol prepared for him. There had been times, on the road and at the prison, when she’d had very little else to cook with than a couple of field mice and a handful of wild onions, but she seemed capable of turning anything into the best thing that Daryl had ever eaten.

“You—wanna do whatever you need to do first?” Daryl asked. “I’ll go with you.”

Carol furrowed her brow at him. 

“Do what?” 

Daryl smiled to himself. He wasn’t the only one who got lost in thought. The whole thing was overwhelming. It was hard to process. He was honestly a little pleased that it wasn’t just him who was struggling with it all. Carol was having a hard time keeping things sorted, and that meant that she was just as overtaken as he was.

But they would sort through it all together. They had time. Now, as far as Daryl could tell, they had all the time they needed—and he wasn’t letting anyone mess that up for them.

“Don’t you need to finish your job?” Daryl asked. “Drop that off or—somethin’? Or they come pick it up?” 

Daryl gestured toward the baby in the bundle and Carol looked down at the wrap she was wearing like she had forgotten the child was even there, bundled and sleeping. She wrapped her arm around it, not that she needed to do so—the sling was more than capable of holding the little one. 

Daryl wasn’t sure if he imagined it, but he thought that Carol went a little pale—all the way to her lips. She licked her lips, and it seemed to take her a long, drawn-out moment to bring her eyes back to Daryl’s. 

“She doesn’t go anywhere, Daryl,” Carol said. “She—lives here. With me. She’s my daughter. Dalia.” 

Daryl’s stomach tightened and his pulse kicked up a notch. 

It was good for Carol to have someone. Daryl hated the idea that she would be alone. And she did love children. He could imagine that, such a little one as this finding herself without a home and family, Carol had jumped at the opportunity to adopt her. 

Daryl smiled as best he could around the surprise that he was still processing. 

“You adopted her,” Daryl said. 

Carol stared at him, the color still not having quite returned to her face with the same vividness with which it had been present before. 

“No,” Carol said. “She’s mine. She’s—Daryl—she’s your daughter, too. This is our home.”


	3. Chapter 3

AN: OK. You can go ahead and do it, if you want. Hit the follow or the whatever button you hit to keep up with this if you like it. I’ll add to it as the muse permits. I really do like the story line possibilities, and I’m glad that you like it, too. I don’t know how long it’ll be, but I’ll tell the story that I feel needs to be told. I hope it’ll be one that you like to share with me.

I hope you enjoy this next little piece to things! Happy New Year, by the way! Don’t forget to let me know what you think! 

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Carol had convinced herself that she would never see Daryl again—how could she? She had accepted the idea because it felt inevitable. It felt like she had no choice except to hold him close to her, in her heart, and let him go physically.

Of course, she’d kept a part of him with her.

The second that Carol had seen Daryl walking toward the building where she was working today—her first day back to work since she’d delivered Dalia, and only a half-day meant for letting her start getting used to leaving her baby in the nursery—her brain had felt nearly overloaded with conflicting thoughts and emotions. First, she’d doubted that it could possibly be him. She couldn’t have even retraced the route that she took to arrive here—so how could he have gotten here, too? Then, she’d felt overwhelmed at the thought that, sooner or later, he would learn about Dalia.

Daryl had loved Judith. He’d wanted to find Sophia for Carol and, had he found her, Carol was certain that he would have come to love her because he loved Carol.

Part of Carol didn’t doubt that Daryl would love Dalia, as well. 

The other part of her, though, still struggled with hard-learned lessons from Ed. Ed had been excited to be a father. He’d wanted a child, at least in theory. Literally, overnight and without too much that seemed to motivate the change, he’d decided that he didn’t want a child. He didn’t want everything that having a child meant and demanded.

Having a child was a much greater risk, now, than it had been before.

The thought that Daryl might not love Dalia—or might even find that he didn’t want her—made Carol’s whole body feel weak and shaky.

The only way to find out how he would respond, though, was to allow Daryl to make that choice—and to introduce him to his daughter. Carol was still cautious, though, because of everything her life had taught her before.

“What?” Daryl asked after a moment of simply staring at Carol. He’d blanched—and Carol was afraid to try to read his reaction from his color or expression. Instinctively, she hugged the wrap where her sleeping daughter was unaware of anything around her. 

Carol’s heart thundered in her chest.

“Dalia is—our daughter,” Carol said. “If you—want her.” 

She added the last part to give him an out. She wanted him to know that he could turn and leave if that’s what he wanted. She didn’t want him to feel trapped. She didn’t want to trap anyone. Ed had always accused her of trapping him, even though she’d always thought it was her who was truly trapped in their marriage.

“Daughter,” Daryl said. His tone wasn’t normal. His expression was somewhere between confused and angry. He was still pale. 

Carol stood her ground, but she kept her arm over her daughter. Even as she stood there, giving Daryl the time that he needed to process this—any of it—she realized that she didn’t fear him. Not at all. All the fear she felt—the real fear—was simply residual fear from having dealt with Ed. 

And, perhaps, some of it came from having dealt with Rick.

Even if Daryl decided to go, he would make that decision for himself. He wouldn’t try to force her into anything, though. Daryl wasn’t one of those men who thought he had the right to make decisions for other people.

Carol nodded her head gently.

“Daughter,” she echoed, purposefully keeping her voice soft and soothing. She knew what it was to have a great deal to process. She was still working on getting herself to believe that he was here and this was real. 

“I ain’t even seen you…” Daryl said. He shook his head. “Not since…”

Carol smiled to herself. 

“I knew about her,” Carol said. “At the prison. I mean—I didn’t know it was her, of course, but…I knew she was there. I believe she was there. I felt her.” 

Daryl’s expression showed clearly the working through that he was trying to do.

“You didn’t tell me?” He asked. It sounded painful. It made Carol’s stomach ache and her chest ache. She felt tears prickling behind her eyes. She tried to swallow them back, but knew it wasn’t going to work. They were going to flow and, maybe, it was best to just let them.

“I have beaten myself up about that every day since…the last day I saw you,” Carol said. She shook her head. “It was never that I didn’t mean to tell you.”

“It was just that you didn’t,” Daryl said. Carol accepted the bite in his voice.

“I thought she was there,” Carol said. “But—I had no test. I didn’t want to tell anyone what I needed because…what if I was wrong? And I was aware that she probably wouldn’t make it. We were always running out of things and times were hard…I didn’t want to tell everyone just to have to say…I’d failed at…just at…carrying her.” 

“But you coulda told me,” Daryl said. “I’da been the damn one you shoulda told. I’da got you a test. I’da got you ten of ‘em, Carol! Damn it! I’da got you what you needed. Whatever you needed. Me!” 

His voice was loud, and harsh, and brimming with anger. Carol could feel it pulsing around her. Dalia responded either to Carol’s tensing or Daryl’s outburst. She whimpered. She stretched a little, but she was tightly swaddled—just the way she liked to be. Carol patted her. It wouldn’t take much for her to ease back off to sleep. She needed a lot of sleep. She was brand new and being brand new to the world was exhausting and hungry work.

“Shhh, please…Daryl,” Carol begged. 

He stopped the short-stepped caging pace that he’d begun. His eyes went to the wrap where Carol’s pats were soothing the baby. Just a little of the anger subsided from his features and the tight angry line of his lips blended into a frown.

“You shoulda told me,” he said.

“I’m sorry,” Carol said. “I really am. I should have. I—don’t know what to say. I can’t change it. I’ve scolded myself every day—every hour. I’ve told myself I should’ve told you. But, at the time, I thought—it was best not to get your hopes up until I was sure. I wanted to go on a run. I wanted to find a test. I wanted to know that I was right and it wasn’t just wishful thinking because—because I wanted it so badly. And—I’m not meaning to make excuses, Daryl, but…I was so scared she wasn’t going to make it if she even was real, and then the virus broke out and…”

Carol stopped and shook her head. Her lungs were practically burning. Her heart ached. Daryl’s expression was enough to make her feel like dying, and it only compounded with the reprimands she’d given herself every day since Rick had banished her from the prison.

“I’m sorry,” she said, finally. 

Daryl was gnawing at his cuticle and frowning around his work on the skin. Carol had often stopped him from doing that by simply taking his hand into hers. She hated to see how his fingers got sore from it, and she knew that I was nothing more than the combination of an oral fixation and a soothing habit.

She smiled to herself. She couldn’t help it as thoughts flitted across her mind. Daryl stopped gnawing so vigorously, visibly relaxed a little, and his face softened.

“What?” He asked.

“She—takes after you,” Carol said. “At least a little. She loves to have something in her mouth. It’s how she soothes herself. Sometimes she just likes to suck. Not because she’s hungry, but…just because she likes to suck.”

Carol knew as well as anyone that sucking for soothing was common to most babies. However, it didn’t stop her from thinking of Daryl when she recognized that was what the baby was doing. It didn’t hurt, either, to have something concrete to offer him—some way, no matter how small, in which he could relate to the infant.

“You were pregnant at the prison,” Daryl said.

Carol wiped at her face with the heel of her hand. The tears she’d tried to swallow back were loose, but there was no need to control them. She laughed nervously to herself at the question. There were probably thousands of questions she had to answer—questions he would need answered in order to process, to accept and, with any luck at all, to move forward.

She’d had dreamed of what it might be like. She could do whatever she needed to do for them to move forward.

“Yeah,” she said. “Little bit.” 

“Enough,” Daryl said.

Carol laughed again. The tightness in her chest loosened a little.

“Yeah,” she agreed. “It was enough.” 

“Rick told me what you did. About Karen and David.”

“I had to,” Carol said. “They were dying. They were just—going to die. I had to try to save whoever I could.” 

“Her?” Daryl asked.

“Her, too,” Carol said, nodding. “But—anyone. I had to try to control the spread somehow.” 

“You were—you were pregnant when…when you…when he…” Daryl said. He stopped and Carol swallowed against the tightness in her throat. She nodded her head. She offered him a reassuring smile. It was hard for him to talk about—the day that Rick left her in a cul-de-sac for dead, even though he probably wouldn’t have quite chosen to word it that way. 

“I had to be,” she said. “Otherwise—I wouldn’t have been able to bring her with me. I didn’t bring anything else with me.” She shrugged her shoulders, refreshed her smile as best she could against the aching in her chest. “I thought I’d be back.” 

Daryl frowned. This time Carol recognized that he was frowning more at his thoughts—his memories, even—and less at her. She felt her muscles start to relax and untangle themselves.

“I’da come after you,” Daryl said. “I was gonna come after you. When Rick told me—when he told me what the hell he done. What the fuck he had no damn business doin’…” Daryl stopped short. His temper had visibly started to rise. His face had drawn back up in anger. He’d balled his fists at his side. His shoulders had risen, and he’d lifted a foot like he might begin to cage again, but he stopped. Carol watched him as he made himself relax. He made himself release some tension. He purposefully took a deep breath.

His eyes were pinned on the baby. Carol smiled to herself. He was choosing, consciously, to relax—to make himself relax—so he didn’t run the risk of frightening or disturbing the infant.

“I broke his nose,” Daryl said, his tone and volume reflecting his forced relaxation. “Meant to break more’n that. But all hell broke loose. Meant to find out where you were an’ come back for you. I mean it. I was comin’ for you, but…all hell broke loose ‘fore I could find out where you were.”

Carol nodded. She paid attention to her own smile and her own body language.

“I knew you would have come for me,” she said. “But—you would have gotten there too late. I left before Rick. I came back to the prison. I took my time so he wouldn’t see me, and so he wouldn’t know that’s what I was doing and try to stop me. I came the long way around—up the back way. I meant to wait until things were calm, after Rick got back and said what he had to say. I meant to come for you. For—for Lizzie and Mika.” 

Carol’s stomach tightened. She didn’t know what happened to the girls, but she knew something must have happened. Two young girls hadn’t been mentioned in any of the reports she’d overheard from the rumor mill while she’d finished up what she was doing to get a moment to go, for herself, and look at the new arrivals.

And Daryl didn’t mention them now, either. But there was time for that, Carol knew. Right now, Daryl was dealing with the discovery of Dalia’s existence.

“You came back?” Daryl asked. Carol nodded.

“I got there in time to see the whole place burning,” Carol said. “Everything was in ruins. Everyone was gone. I saw as much as I could. I looked as hard as I could for you. For anyone. I couldn’t stay, though. The Walkers were too thick. They were coming in droves.” 

“Every damn thing after that,” Daryl said, to himself as much as to Carol, “I had to do without you. You—had to do without me.” Carol nodded her head. “She’s my daughter?” Carol nodded again. “You were—pregnant?” 

Carol laughed to herself and nodded once more.

“That’s usually how it works,” she said. “You—knocked me up.” 

Her teasing seemed to be what Daryl needed. He visibly lightened a little, but then his chin quivered. He wiped his face with his hand, physically trying to wipe it all away, but Carol had seen his reaction and it felt like being stabbed through the heart.

“I didn’t know,” he said. 

“I know, and I’m sorry,” Carol said. 

“Rick…”

“I know,” Carol said, when it seemed like Daryl wasn’t yet able to say what he was thinking.

“My daughter?” 

Carol nodded again. She couldn’t be frustrated with him. His pain was far too palpable. It was her pain, too. 

“Yeah,” she said softly.

“I don’t even—Rick…” He stopped again and wiped at his face. “And I don’t even know her.” 

“She’s only—well, I say a week old, but…technically she’s six days old. There’s plenty of time for you to get to know her, Daryl. If that’s what you want.” 

Daryl’s thumb found his mouth again and he returned to attempting to soothe himself with the gnawing. Carol dared to take the first steps toward him that she’d taken since he’d put a little distance between them with his caging. She’d maintained the distance to give him time to start working things out, but now she felt like it was safe for them to share their space again. She felt like he needed it, and she knew that she needed his closeness.

“Of course that’s what I want.”


	4. Chapter 4

AN: Here we are, another little chapter here. 

I hope you enjoy! Let me know what you think! 

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“You want to—see her?” Carol asked. 

Daryl was only a couple of steps away from her now. One hand was tucked tightly under his armpit as he hugged himself. The other he needed for nipping at the skin around his cuticle. Carol made a mental note for herself that, when Daryl was calm and settled, she would doctor his fingers—making sure they didn’t get infected from the working through of this particular problem. 

He peeked at her almost like a child trying to see over a fence. Then, he nodded.

Carol gave him a reassuring smile and began working her daughter—swaddled as tightly in her blanket as she was—out of the carrier.

“She’s a very good baby, Daryl,” Carol said. “You’ll see. You’ll like her. You’ll learn to love her. She’s very good. She hardly ever cries unless there’s something she needs.” Carol laughed to herself and wiped at her nose with the back of her hand. She was aware that, every now and again, a tear escaped from her eyes, despite the fact that she’d thought they were all dried up. “She cried so little her first day—her first night? I worried there was something wrong with her. But the doctor says she’s fine. There’s nothing wrong with her. She’s just a very good baby. She’s so happy.” 

Carol gently moved the blanket back from around the baby’s face once she was in her arms and free from the wrap. In her sleep, Dalia began sucking. It wouldn’t be long before she woke and cried for food, since food was one of the few reasons that she actually did cry. 

But, Carol hoped, there was time for her to meet her Daddy. 

Daryl peered at the baby from where he was standing. Carol held her, somewhat awkwardly, to try to make it easier for him to see her. 

“Do you want to hold her?” Carol asked.

Daryl nodded. 

“You want to—sit down or…Daryl—I don’t know how to do this. I don’t know how to introduce you to your daughter. I’ll be honest, Ed didn’t stay when Sophia was born and, when he did see her? I don’t think he even cared. I’m not sure I remember ever introducing them. He just didn’t pay her any attention. Not any positive attention.”

“Ain’t him,” Daryl offered, shaking his head.

“I know you’re not,” Carol agreed. “But the fact of the matter remains that—I don’t know what to do. And—I don’t want to do this wrong. I don’t want to ruin anything for you.” 

Her words seemed to do something to bring Daryl around a bit. He straightened up. His posture changed. He walked toward her, suddenly seeming more clear-headed, with his arms out. Carol knew what he wanted, and she was thankful for him showing her exactly how he wanted to do this. She smiled at him, her throat tightening, and gently transferred the baby over to his arms. Dalia stirred slightly at the transfer and Daryl immediately gently bounced her and patted her chest with the arm not holding her.

“Shhh,” he cooed. “Shhh…it’s alright. It’s alright, Sweetheart. Go back to sleep.” 

Carol mopped at her face with her hands. The tears were practically flowing freely now, and she didn’t really care. She caught what she could and felt the others as they rolled down her face.

“She’s a good baby,” Carol said again. 

“Yeah,” Daryl said, studying the newborn. “Yeah—I bet she is. I bet she is.” 

“She only cries when—when she needs something,” Carol said. “And she’s good. She’s easy to calm. As soon as she gets what she needs, she just…stops crying.” 

“I bet she does,” Daryl mused. He looked at Carol, brow-furrowed. “You worried I’ma—throw her out the door or somethin’ if she cries or—or she ain’t good or somethin’?” 

Carol’s stomach immediately felt like she’d been punched. She stopped, surprised at the words, but also surprised at how they made her feel—how she’d felt to drive her to say what she’d said in the first place.

“I don’t know,” she admitted. “I don’t know. I just felt like—I had to tell you. Ed hated when Sophia used to cry…and…”

“I ain’t Ed, Carol,” Daryl said, shaking his head, his brow still furrowed in concern. “And if she cries—she cries. I don’t know that much about babies, but I do know that they cry, Carol.” 

Carol laughed nervously to herself. She continued to mop at her face as each tear slipped free from her eyes. 

“I don’t know,” she said. “You look pretty good there. You look like maybe you know more than you’re letting on.” 

She saw a hint of a smile cross Daryl’s lips. Dalia, in Daryl’s arms, started to suck again and let out some of the snorting little piggy sounds that she made. Carol laughed to herself to hear them and Daryl laughed, too. He looked at Carol.

“She alright?” He asked.

Carol nodded.

“She does that,” Carol said. “When she’s hungry. Or—when she’s about to say she’s hungry. She snorts a little like that. When she eats, sometimes she snorts, too. The doctor said her breathing’s fine. It’s just—something she does. I’m sure she’ll grow out of it, though.”

“It’s OK,” Daryl said. “It’s—cute. Sweet. She’s hungry?”

Carol nodded. He stepped toward her again.

“Shouldn’t you—feed her?” Daryl asked.

“She’s not fully awake yet,” Carol said. “She’s fine, Daryl. If you want to—get to know her a little more. If you don’t, I can take her. I don’t want you to feel like—you have to hold her. Not if you don’t want to.” 

Daryl looked at her a moment. He could, at times, stare at her particularly hard. He chewed his lip, nodded his head like he was responding to something he said in his mind, and walked across the floor toward the window with Dalia in his arms. Rather than follow after him, Carol walked to the couch and sat down. She wanted him to have a moment. She was certain, after all, that he still hadn’t fully come to terms with this.

She couldn’t believe, after all, that he was really here, and that he was holding their baby girl in his arms.

“Why’s she wrapped up like this?” Daryl asked. “Cold?” 

“It does keep her warm,” Carol said. “But—she responds really well to swaddling. She likes it. It makes her calm. She’s so content when she’s swaddled.” 

Daryl smiled to himself.

“Why’s her name Dalia?” Daryl asked.

Carol smiled to herself.

“I found it in a book,” she said. “And it reminded me of—well—it reminded me of Daryl. And I wanted her to have something that reminded me of you. Something that, one day, would remind her of you.” 

Daryl frowned at the bundle in his arms.

“Because she weren’t gonna have me around,” he said. “She weren’t gonna know me. Not for real.” 

“I had no idea that you would find us here,” Carol said. “How could I? I didn’t know what happened at the prison or—if you even made it back before all that did happen. I don’t even know exactly how I got here. I mean—not enough to retrace my steps. I couldn’t have even told you how to get here.” 

“How did you get here?” Daryl asked. 

Carol sucked in a breath and let it out. He was going to want his questions answered—all of them. 

“I left when I realized no one was there and the prison was too overrun,” Carol said. “I left before the Walkers could block me in. I just—drove. I had very few supplies that Rick had given me, and I focused all my attention on…food. Water. That was all I thought about. Food, water, and driving. I slept in the car. I siphoned gas when I could. When the gas ran out, I walked until I found something else. As soon as I was sure that she was there, I thought I’d lose her, but I wanted nothing in the world more than I wanted to keep her, Daryl. She was you. She was the last piece of you that I had—and I was desperate.” Carol laughed to herself and shrugged her shoulders. “I literally just searched for food and water—and I kept going. And I somehow ended up here.”

Daryl chewed his lip and nodded.

“She’s healthy?” 

“Perfect,” Carol said. “The doctors here have some little cradle scales. She’s lost a little weight since she was born, but that’s normal. She’ll gain back up with feeding. But she was six pounds and one ounce when she was born.” 

“Six pounds?” 

Carol nodded.

“She don’t feel like six pounds,” Daryl said.

“She’s lost a little, but that’s normal,” Carol reminded him. “She’ll gain it back and then some. She’s a good baby. She eats often.” 

“You feed her all she wants?” 

“Every time she’s hungry,” Carol said.

“You need—somethin’?” Daryl asked. “Anything? To get her—what she needs?” 

Carol smiled at him reassuringly and shook her head. She had no idea what he was going through. She couldn’t imagine it. She’d been through her own struggles, but she’d been there while Dalia was growing. She’d felt her first little popcorn movements, and she’d felt them as they strengthened. She’d spent time before she went to sleep chasing her little kicks and elbow punches as she rolled around in her belly—teasing her with a small flashlight she’d found. Carol had expected her and, when she’d come, Carol had rejoiced at those first healthy cries. 

Daryl was dealing with all of that as a surprise. He’d missed every bit of the expectation leading up to the baby girl that he now held in his arms. 

“They have most everything I need,” Carol said. “She only takes milk right now, and I get everything I need from storage. They’re really good here, Daryl. Everyone contributes, really. And we all get what we need.” 

“They—ain’t let you go hungry? Made sure you—got her what she needed?” 

Carol nodded.

“When I got here, I didn’t have to do my interview first,” Carol said. “The first thing they did was bring me straight inside and take me to the doctor. They made sure she was OK. They gave me food and water. When I’d rested, then they came here to do my interview.”

“Dalia,” Daryl mused.

“If you don’t like the name,” Carol offered, “we can change it. She’s young. She doesn’t really know her name yet. We could change it to whatever you want. Whatever would—make you happy.”

Daryl stared at her again. She finally looked away, overwhelmed by the intensity of his stare. He hummed to himself and straightened up from where he’d been leaning against the window. He walked around, pacing a large circle around the couch where Carol was sitting.

“Her name don’t make me unhappy,” Daryl said. “Dalia Dixon—it ain’t the worst name in the world.” 

“I love it,” Carol said. 

“You sure she’s mine, I mean—I ain’t gonna find out there’s more to this surprise an’ you moved on while I was gone? You didn’t move on, did you?” 

Carol laughed to herself. She swallowed it down.

“I didn’t move on,” she said. “I couldn’t have. I love you.” 

“But you could still move on,” Daryl said. “Said it yourself—you didn’t know if you was gonna see me no more.” 

“I love you,” Carol said. “I didn’t move on. Did you?” 

“I ain’t never loved nobody but you,” Daryl offered. “Don’t suppose I’ma change.” 

Carol smiled to herself.

“She ain’t but—how old did you say she is?” Daryl asked after a second.

“Six days,” Carol said. “I was going to start back to work today. Just a half day for a few days. Just to start getting her used to going to the nursery and to start getting me used to taking her there. They’re really good here, though. Whoever takes care of the babies each day brings them when they get hungry so you can feed them and hold them a little when it’s time to eat.” 

Daryl came around and sat on the couch next to Carol. It was the closest he’d been to her since his arrival and those first shared kisses and embraces. Carol couldn’t help but lean into him, seeking contact with his body. He didn’t shy away from her at all. She leaned her head against his shoulder, amazed for the moment that this wasn’t some elaborate dream—she could smell him, and she could touch him, and she could lean her head on his shoulder and look over at their daughter who kept screwing her face up in the threat of waking soon and showing them both that, when her nap was done, she expected to be in absolute proximity to a breast that would offer her what she wanted to fill her little tummy.

“She’s going to be mad when she wakes up,” Carol whispered to Daryl. She laughed to herself. “Just for a minute. Just because—I think she really wants to sleep, but she wants to eat, too.” 

“Here,” Daryl said, offering her the baby. “You better—feed her. I don’t want her gettin’ mad.”

“She doesn’t cry long,” Carol said. “I can make her be quiet.” 

“I’m not worried about that, Carol. I swear—I ain’t gonna be pissed off the baby cries. I just—don’t want her bein’ upset if she don’t gotta.” 

Carol accepted his explanation and she accepted the baby. She started to undo her swaddle, releasing her. Immediately, Dalia stretched, as she always did when her blanket was loosened, and then she woke. Her very first sounds were a cross between a sneezing sound and a snort, and she opened her mouth to start the first howls of displeasure. But Carol, anticipating what was coming, already had a breast free and tickled her daughter’s lips with her nipple. Dalia didn’t bother to cry when she realized she didn’t have to. She latched immediately—Carol thought she could have won a gold medal if latching were some kind of Olympic newborn sport, and immediately she began satisfying her desires.

“My daughter,” Daryl mused.

“She is,” Carol said. 

“Six days old?” Daryl asked. 

Carol hummed.

“She was—born here? In a hospital or somethin’?” 

“In the bedroom,” Carol said. 

“Here? In this house?” 

“Right here,” Carol said. “In my bed. Our bed, now. We covered it, of course, but…she was born here.”

“You was alone?” 

“The doctor delivered her,” Carol said. “And the other doctor helped, some, but she took care of the other things in the community so that Alice—my doctor—didn’t have to leave me the whole time.”

“Six days ago?” 

“Mmm hmmm…” Carol hummed.

“You tellin’ me that—if I was six days earlier,” Daryl said. “I coulda—held your damn hand when she was born? I coulda—seen her be born? Been here to…what the hell all do they do? Cut the cord? Hold her? I coulda been here for all that, if I was just six damn days earlier? A whole damn week an’ I coulda—known about her ‘fore she was even here?” 

Carol frowned to herself and brushed a finger over Dalia’s forehead when the baby responded to her expression by furrowing her little brow in concern. 

“I’m so sorry, Daryl,” Carol said.

“It’s me that’s fuckin’ sorry,” Daryl growled. He stood up. He paced again. “It’s me that’s fuckin’ sorry. A fuckin’ week, Carol. A couple damn days of not draggin’ our damn feet or waitin’ on fuckin’ Rick to make decisions about what the hell we were doin’ or where the…where the fuck we were goin’ and…and…a fuckin’ week an’ I coulda knowed about her before she was born, Carol! I coulda fuckin’ been there when she was born!” 

“Shhh…shhhh…Daryl—please,” Carol begged when the baby broke her latch in surprise and her face screwed up in response to the loud ambiance surrounding her meal. Carol worked to get her calmed and latched again. “Please—Daryl. It doesn’t matter. Please—I don’t want her to…I don’t want her to hear anger, OK? I don’t want her to know…what it is to be scared so small. Not if she doesn’t have to. Please? It was a week, but…it doesn’t change anything. It doesn’t make any difference.” 

Daryl frowned at her. His voice, when he spoke, was softer, though, than it had been before.

“It does to me.”


	5. Chapter 5

AN: Here we are, another chapter here. 

I hope you enjoy! Let me know what you think! 

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Daryl felt like his whole body was trying to turn wrong-side-outward starting at his guts.

He was in a nice house. It was clean and bright, and it smelled good. It was inside the walls of a community that must be relatively safe because, otherwise, he doubted that all these people would be alive there and looking relatively without concern as they went about somewhat normal looking lives. 

Carol was sitting next to him. He could feel the warmth of her body. He could lean, slightly, and brush against her. He’d convinced himself that he’d never see her again. He’d never feel her body near his again. And, now, she was there. 

As if that didn’t seem impossible enough, at her breast a baby nursed. The nursing, and the fact that Carol was even able to produce milk, was proof that the tiny newborn—almost small enough that Daryl feared holding her out of concern that he might accidentally injure her—was Carol’s actual biological child. Her daughter. 

His daughter.

The baby’s nose was Carol’s nose. Daryl always thought Carol’s nose was cute. Something in the shape of the infant’s eyes, though, was familiar on a different level. She’d gotten something, perhaps, from Daryl.

Something besides her name—Dalia Dixon.

Daryl stood up. He stood up because all the ache inside of him was too heavy, and sitting down it felt like it pinned him in place. The feeling of his whole body seeming to turn inside out—like he might crack open at any moment—blended with another feeling of compression as though the universe was fighting back by holding him in an invisible vice that would keep him from coming apart at the seams. 

Carol asked him if he was OK, and he grunted at her. He didn’t know how to respond. He wasn’t even sure that he could respond.

He was beginning to feel like he couldn’t breathe.

She was nursing a baby—their baby. Her name was Dalia. And she weighed six pounds when she was born, but she had lost a little weight that she’d get back nursing her mother like she was doing now. 

She was six days old. 

Carol had been alive all this time. She’d been surviving. The road to get here had been hard—ridiculously, terribly hard at times. They’d all thought they wouldn’t make it. Sometimes, in Daryl’s case, he hadn’t even been entirely sure he wanted to make it. But Carol had made it on her own. By herself. More than that, she’d made it carrying Dalia inside her and, somehow, keeping her alive and growing. 

Daryl didn’t know much about pregnancy. He knew the basics. He knew it took a toll on a woman’s body. He knew she had to provide for herself and for the growing child. He knew she underwent changes to make room and provide for the little one. But he didn’t know much about the details—he couldn’t say how difficult it would have been for Carol, only that it would have been difficult.

Lori had made it seem like something that was almost impossible—a true burden. And Carol had done it alone—entirely alone.

Daryl had always hoped that, someday, he might get the chance to truly know a thing or two about pregnancy, but he’d assumed that, if he did, it would come from watching his own woman go through it—and helping to nurture her as she nurtured their child and helped it to grow ready to come into the world.

Carol had carried their child and nurtured her entirely alone. She’d had no help from Daryl at all. She’d had to fight this damned world for the survival of both of them.

Daryl hadn’t even been there. He hadn’t even known about it.

He imagined, maybe, one day seeing his child born—if he were ever to have children. He could imagine holding his wife’s hand, because he imagined that his woman would be his wife if he were going so far as to have a child with her, and he imagined comforting her as she did this difficult and amazing thing for the both of them. He imagined how happy they would be because they would have waited for this and planned for it a long time. He imagined the amazement of witnessing the miracle of their child’s birth. He imagined doing all the things that a Daddy—a good Daddy, a real Daddy— was supposed to do when their kid was born in an ideal situation.

The world was not ideal these days, but Daryl’s imagination hadn’t completely caught up with that.

But Dalia had been born six days ago. In this house. In the bed where Carol slept, alone. Carol had delivered her with the help of a doctor, but she’d done it alone, otherwise. Daryl hadn’t been there to hold her hand. He hadn’t whispered even one word of comfort or encouragement to her. He hadn’t been there to see the miracle for himself. He hadn’t held his baby girl in awe the moment that the doctor had said she was, in fact, a girl, and he hadn’t cut the cord.

He hadn’t done a single damned thing. He had a daughter who had lived six whole days in the world without him even knowing about it. For six days, he’d walked, and hunted, and eaten, and drank, and thought about whether or not he wanted to keep on fighting to draw breath, and he’d never known that his daughter was alive in the world.

And the thought of that hurt so badly that Daryl couldn’t breathe. In fact, drawing breath was so hard that he found himself beginning to panic that he wasn’t actually going to get the air that he needed. He had wanted to die before, but he didn’t want that now—and he didn’t want to die like this, suffocating to death.

Daryl practically clawed the door open to get outside in his panic. He half-galloped onto the porch and panted, feeling like he couldn’t get air in and trying to convince himself that he was gulping in lungfuls of air.

He clung to the banister. 

“Daryl?” Carol said, her voice panicked. Inside, Daryl heard the baby crying. Carol touched his shoulder and back. She hugged against him. She asked him if he was OK. She asked him what was wrong. She asked if she could help him in any way.

He couldn’t tell her that he wasn’t able to get any air—despite all the air he was clearly breathing—and he couldn’t explain that he was turning inside out while some invisible vice held him so tight that he couldn’t possibly come apart. 

The panic in her voice and the sound of the loud, hearty cries of the newborn pulled him back so that he could focus on the more than his breathing and his heart pounding. It pulled him back so that he could experience more than his anguish.

Carol’s shirt was undone, and her breasts were nearly entirely free. Dalia was crying, inside, from wherever her mother had put her in a frantic rush to make sure everything was OK. Her meal, more than likely, had been rudely interrupted. 

And she was only six days old, and she weighed less than six pounds, and she would be upset by an interrupted meal because she didn’t yet have the ability to understand the amount of pain Daryl would be feeling at the moment—nor could she truly care. All she could care about were her needs, because they were the only ones she was capable of understanding and, right now, they weren’t being met.

“Where is she?” Daryl asked.

Carol’s hands were cool and touching his face. The air was cold. They’d been struggling to get here before the winter did. Daryl reached his hands up and caught Carol’s hands in his. 

“She’s in her basket,” Carol said. “She’s fine. I mean—she doesn’t sound fine, but…she’s not hurt. She’s just upset. She’ll stop crying. I can make her stop crying, Daryl.”

Daryl pulled her close to him, quickly, and caught her face. He kissed her, smothering the apology that was about to escape her lips. He held the kiss. He held it because he needed to taste her. He held it because he didn’t want to let her go. He held it because all this time alone—all this time trying to survive and living with what she’d done and what had happened to her, and likely with what Rick had said to her—had left her to regress somewhat. It had left her to recall someone that Daryl wished she could forget entirely—someone she’d been starting to put behind her. 

She’d been left to do this monumental task of carrying, providing for, and delivering into the world their daughter. She’d been left to do it alone—cast out. And the last time she’d done anything even remotely resembling that, she’d done it under Ed’s thumb.

Daryl held the kiss because, in addition to his own hurt, he felt pain at the thought that her mind had had so much time to run free—and there was no telling how cruel it had been.

She let him kiss her, though, and she kissed him back. She held onto him. Her hands grasped at him. Her fingers held tight to him. She seemed as desperate and hungry for his closeness as he felt for hers.

They kissed until he had to break it to look for air—this time his lack of air didn’t make him feel like he was dying of thirst in the middle of a cool spring of water.

He immediately pressed his fingers to her lips, and she simply stared at him.

God—she had the most beautiful eyes. He had missed seeing her eyes. He’d missed how soulful they were. He’d missed how they looked at him and seemed to grow with whatever emotion she was feeling—how they seemed to tell him even more, sometimes, than her words. 

When he’d been missing her, and he’d closed his eyes, he could see her eyes. Sometimes she’d been smiling at him. Sometimes she’d been teasing with her eyebrow raised and her nostrils flared. Sometimes she’d been watching him from a spot beside him on the prison cot where she’d let him explore her body for the first time, and where she had been working to teach him everything he needed to know about pleasing a woman—or, really, about pleasing her, but that was all he needed to know anyhow.

Her eyes were big, and blue, and waiting to hear what he had to say.

He shook his head at her, his heart aching because he could only imagine the cruelty of the voices in her mind that had kept her company since he’d last seen her.

“You gotta listen to me—don’t apologize for her cryin’ no more. OK?” 

“OK,” Carol agreed when he pulled his finger away.

“We gotta get her—not because I’m pissed she’s cryin’ but because…she ought not to have to cry,” Daryl said. 

“She’s OK,” Carol said, a hint of a smile playing at her lips. “It’s not terrible for her lungs to—to cry a little.”

“Well, they gettin’ a damn workout now,” Daryl said. “Come on.” 

He pushed at Carol’s shoulder to push her back in through the door that was open—neither of them had closed it. Inside the house, Daryl pushed the door closed. 

“Are you OK?” Carol asked, turning around to face him once more. Her concern was genuine.

“No,” Daryl said, shaking his head. “No—no, I’m any fuckin’ thing but OK right now. But—I’m gonna be. Hell—I don’t think I even asked it, but…you OK?” 

Carol smiled to herself.

“I’m better now,” she said. Daryl accepted the answer for what it was. He laughed to himself, thankful for the slight ripple of amusement that ran through him. 

“Look at’cha with your tits all out—paradin’ on the porch like that.” Carol seemed to realize that she hadn’t covered herself entirely in her haste. She pulled her shirt closed and held it with her hand instead of the buttons. Her cheeks ran red. Daryl laughed to himself. “I missed seein’ ‘em,” he admitted. 

“Things aren’t what they used to be,” Carol said. 

She almost sounded nervous saying that. Daryl’s stomach tightened. He nodded. In the corner, in a wooden basket of sorts with rockers on the bottom, the baby fussed. She wasn’t screaming like she had been before, but she wasn’t satisfied with her lot in life.

“Feed her, Carol,” Daryl said. “I’m sorry I—messed her up. Get her what she needs, OK?” 

Carol nodded. She quickly went over and rescued the baby from the basket. She kissed her and clucked at her and danced her slightly, as she hushed her. When the baby calmed a little, Carol returned to the couch, sat, and helped her to get situated again to nurse. Daryl stood behind her, and behind the couch. When she settled, he rested his hands on her shoulders. She tensed, probably without intention, and then relaxed. Daryl kneaded her shoulder muscles. After a moment, she groaned.

“Feels good,” she said, as a way of praising him. 

“Carol…”

“Hmmm?” 

“I missed everything,” Daryl said. 

“Not everything,” Carol said. “She’s only six days old. You have so much time together.” 

“You know what I mean,” Daryl said. “And when I think about that shit…I can’t breathe. I can’t stand knowin’ I missed it all.” 

Carol brought a hand up and covered his hand, stilling the massage. She leaned her head, trapping his fingers between her face and shoulder. 

“I know,” she said softly. “And, somehow? We’ll make it OK.” 

Daryl laughed to himself.

“Ain’t the kinda thing you can fix, Carol. You don’t get time back.” 

“No,” Carol agreed. “But—we’ll figure it out. Somehow. The most important thing is…you’re here now. And we’ll figure out how to make up the rest.”


End file.
